by H. M. Ward
Erin is right, though. I have to learn to loosen up a little bit. This is just a party, and tomorrow it will be like nothing ever happened. I suck in a deep breath and release it, trying to slow my pulse into non-stroke territory.
Looking around, the place isn’t recognizable. It actually looks like a swanky dance club, instead of a warehouse. The atmosphere is electric, and the live DJ keeps everyone in a trance with provocative, dark, scratchy and somewhat aggressive electro house and dubstep beats. The deep bass is making my chest vibrate with every pulse. Strobe lights flash in time, accompanied by a dizzying display of multicolored lasers under black lighting. These people are supposed to be the best in the business and I can see why. Everything looks and feels awesome. The party is a sensory experience in every way possible. No expense was spared on the set up, and the steep cover charge didn’t keep people away either—not at this kind of party. It’s the type of party everyone hopes to attend, but only the super awesome elite can succeed.
Since I just said super awesome elite, I’m obviously not one of them. I hang with a different crowd, save Erin. She’s my lifeline, my reminder that life isn’t all business and no fun. Her life is all fun. I can see her glowing arms wedged between two guys as they get swept away in the dense crowd.
Standing alone, I glance around. Elaborate wrought iron candleholders are on every available surface and deep red drapes have been hung, adding a bit of an eerie gothic, vampire-esque feel to the old warehouse. The final effect is kind of cool, actually. There are people everywhere, in every inch of the wide-open space. We're in violation of too many codes to count. As if that’s the worst of my problems.
As my eyes scan the room, they lock on a couple partly hidden by stacks of old crates. I shift to get a better look, worried that I may need to call security if she's being assaulted. Of course my mind jumps to the worst-case scenario, but maybe I’m wrong.
As I take a few steps to the side to get a better view, it's clear that they are making out and it's getting hot and heavy. I should look away, give them their privacy, but there's just something in the way he's holding her that keeps me staring. It's possessive, rough and... erotic. I feel my cheeks getting hotter, which is saying something since this place already feels like a sauna, but I can't tear my eyes away. My lips part and I stare unabashedly. I can’t help it.
She's pressed up against the wall, a leg wrapped around the guy's jean-clad hips. He's holding her wrists firmly above her head with one hand, the other hand pressed against the wall next to her head. His hips move to the beat of the music, pressing against her subtly and rhythmically. I continue to watch, unable to look away, as people around me keep on dancing, entwined in each other. Everyone here has that audacious thing going on, like a sexy train wreck about to happen, but not like this couple. I feel like such a creeper, but I can’t seem to turn my head or blink. The man's shoulders are broad and you can tell through his tight black t-shirt that he’s all toned muscle—and not the bulky kind, like on those cans of man-in-a-can. This guy is strong, with the perfect amount of muscle to accentuate his masculinity. I suppose the way he’s holding her does that too, because damn…
Her head is tilted to the side, her long red curls cascading down the wall, her neck exposed for him to devour. Kudos to the party masters and their vampire theme; this couple fits right in.
Red’s eyes are closed, her mouth wide open, as if she's gasping. She doesn't look like she's struggling or in any kind of distress. No, she's a very willing participant. My breath quickens and I start to feel warm in places I shouldn't. I'm enveloped in an overload of sensuality, from the music to the heat coming off of the bodies around me. Add in the passion of the couple in the dark and my heart is racing rapidly.
My fingers idly play with my short pearl necklace and I wonder what it would be like to be taken like that, so public and carnal. There's nothing romantic or loving about their embrace. It's raw, it’s sexual, it's erotic.
It's like nothing I've ever experienced before, that's for sure. I wish I could see the look on his face. From my viewpoint, the way he moves, the way he's holding her, it's so possessive.
My thoughts are interrupted by a hip bump. A sticky plastic glass of some sickeningly sweet cocktail is being placed in my hand. It's Erin and she's out of breath, flushed, and giggling like crazy. Something tells me that it’s not helium in those little balloons that I’ve seen people sucking on all night. Is laughing gas even legal?
"Here, drink up! What are we looking at?" Erin glances in the direction I’d been staring at just moments ago, still giggling.
A little embarrassed by my sudden case of voyeurism, I shrug, trying to look unaffected. "Just a couple making out, dry-humping in the corner over there, nothing much." I feel Erin's eyes boring into the side of my head. Bringing the glass to my mouth, I chug back half of its contents, not entirely registering how sweet and fruity it is, but knowing I should go slow. I'm a lightweight and this will go straight to my head, but I need to numb myself out just a little bit.
"Uhmmm, they're not dry-humping."
PUBLIC EXPOSURE
8:12 pm
"Nope, Gina. No dry-hump there.” Erin squints her eyes to focus on the show a bit more. “He is most definitely hammering her straight into that wall. She'll be a permanent fixture by the time he's done. You pervy peeping tom, you!" Erin laughs a bit too loud. I cringe, wishing that I could crawl under a table and die.
A girl walks past us, staring at Erin and me. She’s dressed like slutty Rainbow Brite, wearing a multicolored wig with a rainbow-colored ruffled bikini. Add in the rainbow furry leg warmers and tutu, complete with blinking lights, and she’s the prism princess in the flesh.
Rainbow Bright looks at us with that happy dazed look on her face, the kind that comes from using illicit substances, and walks away after having thoroughly checked me out.
Shaking my head, I glance back toward the couple in the dark and see details I hadn't noticed before, like the way her skirt is hiked up to her hips and the way his black jeans seem to be unfastened, his belt hanging down a bit. Since neither one of them is glowing, I didn’t notice before. Their bodies are mostly in shadow, but this is a warehouse with no private places to steal a kiss—or nail a woman to the wall.
The guy’s movements are getting faster and more rough, his perfectly shaped ass clenching as he pushes against her again and again and again.
I have to look away. But I can't.
Erin laughs beside me. “Oh, my God! The look on your face is priceless! Don't tell me you're still a virgin? I thought Doctor Goody Two Shoes took care of that situation for you! " I tear my eyes away from the couple just long enough to look at my friend, her eyes almost popping out of her head in disbelief.
"No, I'm not a virgin. It's just. God, Erin! They're having sex in public! On the wall!" And it's hot and part of me wants some of that, too, which scares the tar out of me. But I can't say that out loud, because that would mean it’s true. If I keep these little thoughts in my head, no one will ever know. They can’t become real if no one knows about them. Can they?
Erin laces her arm over my shoulder and leans in. "So, you've never had any public hanky-panky before? Not even a little fingering under the table, or a bathroom stall blowjob, or going downtown on your man in the car?" Erin asks waggling her eyebrows before I shake her off.
“No!” I shake my head, as if the idea were repulsive, not sure why I’m so defensive.
I haven’t done anything like that. Ever. In bed, my boyfriend is more the slow and sweet type. Anthony is nothing like this. My eyes go back to the couple. His pace is picking up even more. What they are doing is now unmistakable. The girl is biting her lip, probably to stifle a scream, and I can't help but mimic her expression. The spot down low in the pit of my stomach stirs, and my grip tightens around my glass. She throws her head back and, when he finally stills, his body pressed to hers, she sags, dropping her head on his shoulder. They are both breathing heavily. I'm almost pant
ing along with them.
What would it feel like to be her? To be held up against a wall like that, and be taken so roughly, without any inhibitions?
My inner-voice chides me, “Stop it, Gina. That might work for some people, but not you.”
Once more, Erin interrupts my lusty daydreams. "Go Ferro. You sexy beast! Grrrrr!" She claws at the air as if she were a bear.
"Ferro? They're here? Where? I didn't see any of them walk in." On my tiptoes, I look around the mass of bodies, trying to find anyone in the crowd that would fit their trademark description.
The Ferro family is one of the oldest and richest families in New York. Hell, they’re the wealthiest family in the Tri-State Area. My family is pretty well off, and from what is called "old money", which is another way to say "my ancestors worked their butts off to make it big and we're keeping the ball rolling", but the Ferros are insanely rich, powerful... and scary.
It is wise to never ask a Ferro for a favor, because you never want to be in their debt. On the other hand, if they ask a favor of you, you NEVER refuse. You don't want to be on Constance Ferro's shit list. She's head of the Ferro clan, and a very imposing woman, to put it mildly. I've met her and her husband on various occasions, mostly during fundraisers and social functions. Her three sons, on the other hand, I have yet to meet, although they constantly make their way to the social pages of the paper every time one of them screws up. It seems like not a day goes by without one of the Ferro boys making headlines.
"Uh, yeah Gina. That would be Mr. Humpty Dumped-His-Load over there. You didn't recognize him?" I shake my head.
Erin huffs in exasperation. "Regina Granz! Where have you been the past couple of years? That hot guy nailing the redhead to the wall is Pete Ferro."
THE SEXY BEAST
8:33 pm
"I never thought I'd actually see the sex god in action!” Erin makes a high pitched squeal only dogs or dolphins could hear, and balances on the balls of her feet, trying to get a better view. “I can die a happy girl now. Best. Party. Ever, Gina!" Erin lets out a contented sigh before dramatically falling sideways onto my shoulder. I have no idea what expression is on my face, but Erin laughs and kisses me on the cheek before heading back toward the crowd.
“Stop kissing me!” I yell after her, wiping away her lipstick. It’s not until I yell the words that I realize what I’ve said. My cheeks warm, and I back away from the few faces that reassess me. Erin’s answering giggles are swallowed by the noise of the crowd.
That’s when a whirl of red hair catches my eye. It’s not my fault. I swear I’m not a perv, but they’re in my line of sight now. I stare at the couple, wondering things that shouldn’t be thought, clutching a crumpled plastic cup in one hand and my cell in the other.
Did I really just imagine what it would feel like to have sex with—eck—Pete Ferro?
Where’s my mental Lysol? That’s so gross. Of all people, I swoon over the most notorious asshat. It's a well-known fact that he sleeps with every woman he comes into contact with and punches whatever guy gets in his way. Just the thought of him would make any respectable girl like myself slap on a chastity belt, throw away the key, and run for the hills. Guys like him can’t be trusted. They’re all smiles and sweet-talk until the panties drop. When the conquest is over, they’re gone. From what I’ve heard about Pete, Red is going to be old news as soon as he zips his fly.
With my eyes still on Pete and his newest conquest, I watch them straighten their clothing. He turns around and that's when I recognize him—the dark messy hair, the shocking blue eyes, and the cocky self-satisfactory grin on his stubbly face. Damn. He’s hotter than I thought. The way the light falls across his face makes him look like an angel, freshly fallen. Shadows play across his eyes, making him look like he should be the Wikipedia entry for SINFUL. The pictures I've seen of him in the tabloids and gossip columns are lacking. They don’t reveal that combustible aura about him, like his errant glance could cause you to erupt in flames at any second. He’s male perfection on the outside, from his freshly fucked hair down to his tight firm butt in those slim-fitting jeans. Too bad he’s an asshole.
Pete’s lazy gaze scans the room and connects with mine just as my eyes drift past his hips. My spine goes ramrod straight and my stomach flips. Oh crap! He's looking straight at me. He holds my gaze, offering a crooked grin that becomes devilish.
I gulp and force my gaping mouth shut. He knows I’ve been watching. He knows I saw everything. That look, the way he devours me with his eyes, makes my palms sweat and fires up parts of me I wish it wouldn’t. Pete scans my body up and down, as if I’m his next meal. I feel naked, despite my clothes. My insides quiver and I let out a shaky breath. He’s trying to rattle me, but I refuse to let him. My gaze remains on him, eyes narrowed, and obviously not interested.
At least not interested in him. The concept of being desired like that is what caught my attention. The fact that the man is Pete Ferro makes me wish I followed Erin into the crowd. Besides, a guy like that isn’t serious. He’s a one-off, a fling. I want steady and I found a steady guy. He’s the most brilliant up-and-coming doctor on the East Coast. But while I’m proud of him, while he’s everything I wanted, I’ve never been with him like that. Passion isn’t something we do. So when Pete checks me out, my heart stops. I’m the polar opposite of the woman in his arms. Why is he even looking at me?
That’s when Pete winks and throws his head to the side slightly, an invitation to join them.
Not him, THEM.
My thoughts shatter, clanging on the floor like a dropped gong. Every single piece of my previous lust—or whatever that was—drops into my shoes. Blinking twice, I stiffen as my jaw flaps open. Heat flashes through me, streaking across my face and over my chest, and pooling in my belly. I ignore that last part.
I just, I can't even… Is he really inviting me over for a threesome? Who does that?
Disgusted, and slightly mortified, I look away. Damn it! We were in a visual tug-of-war and I lost. I slap my mouth shut and push my way through the crowd. Sweaty bodies bump into me, and there’s an occasional pair of hands that grabs hold of my hips before I manage to break away. I may have growled at one guy, who immediately released me. I suspect Pete would have held on tighter. Freak.
My stomach is still in a suspended motion, like I’m walking on Mars. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I tighten my grip on my phone and keep my eyes glued to the floor. Although I’m in a mass of people, I can still feel eyes on me. My fingers straighten and ball up again as I think about it. What a jerk. I know he just did that to get to me. No one would ever invite me to a threesome. I mean, look at me. I’m the only woman here who isn’t flashing boob every two seconds. Mine are wrapped up tightly in my virginal little blouse. So again, why would he ask me to be part of a sex sandwich? Do I look like that’s my thing? Maybe he thought my pearl necklace was made of butt beads.
Scowling, I shoulder my way through the crowd, putting as much distance as possible between Pete Ferro and me. The music continues to pulse and I wish I could relax, but that’s not my MO. I’m uptight Gina, the chick with the pearls around her throat, not up her ass. The stick is in the way.
My shoulders sag as I stop and back up to lean against a wall. Why do I even care? So what if Pete Ferro thinks I’m a prude? Who cares if he was teasing me or serious? It doesn’t matter. For one, I’m dating someone, and reason number next—he’s Pete Ferro—and it’s been confirmed that the tabloids didn’t make the man. He did that himself by nailing women to the wall with his thingy, in public!
I shiver thinking about it. I can’t even kiss in public. When I feel other eyes on me I freeze. The action lacks intimacy and seems wrong.
Laughing to myself, I think, maybe I am a prude.
THE GOOD GUY
8:47 pm
Just then, my cell phone vibrates, flashing my boyfriend's name across the little screen. I love him but crap! Anthony can’t know what's going on here tonight, he’ll blab to Dad
about it. Since Anthony’s working the night shift in the ER for his residency in med school, the timing for this party was perfect. He's probably just on his break and calling to say goodnight and a quick I love you.
I’m not a total ass; I would have invited him. The thing is I needed to unwind and have some time with Erin. Then my girl time turned into this. A rave with drugs and half-naked women isn’t really his scene. Too many people in too small a space, plus the added opportunity of going to jail, not finishing his degree, and alienating himself from his future seemed like unnecessary temptation. So I didn’t give him the option. I feel a little bad about that, about being here without him. Maybe I should go.
The phone continues ringing in my hand, as I gaze across the warehouse and the throng of people, tables, and dancers between the door and me. I’ll talk to him and then bail. Erin can have enough fun for two people. This isn’t my scene.
Headed toward a spot where the noise level is at a minimum, I run up an old metal staircase toward the storage room. After a couple forceful pushes and tugs on the handle, I notice that the lock at the bottom of the door is on. It’s the kind that slides down into a hole in the floor. Lifting the pin with my foot, I slip the lock up, and push the door open.
I might be a little bit tipsy from having chugged down my drink so fast. I’m also frustrated with the way this whole evening is turning out, and the fact that I’m still irritated over a Ferro. I slam the door shut and take a deep breath before answering the phone. Luckily for me, the room is more soundproof than I remembered. The bass is just a dull vibration on the floor, and the walls and the door muffle most of the high-pitched treble sounds.
